


Three AM

by dumbacapellapotatoes (Bechloetrash)



Series: All In [3]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, quick one-shot to dust off the cobwebs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bechloetrash/pseuds/dumbacapellapotatoes
Summary: Set three months after All In. Chloe wakes up to an empty bed and a crying girlfriend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> You guys asked for it and the muse, finally, delivered. A commercial is referenced here and if you're not from the US you likely have never seen it. However you can head over here to see it. Set 3 months post All In. 
> 
> Largely un-beta'd so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Chloe’s not entirely sure what woke her from the dead of sleep. The room is dark, calm and silent. Reaching over to her right, her hand brushes over empty sheets, feeling nothing but the warm spot where Beca normally sleeps. The absence of her small frame next to her the likely culprit. A glance at the clock through half-lidded eyes confirms it’s past three am.

 

“Bec?” she groggily whispers out into the darkness to be met with more silence.

 

A look into the en-suite bathroom reveals it to be empty.

 

Chloe pads down the hallway, pausing in the doorway of the half-assembled nursery where Beca has taken to spending her sleepless nights. Empty. She finally notices the slight glow coming from the living room and peeks around the corner cautiously.

 

Beca has tucked herself into the corner of the couch under a nest of blankets and Chloe’s not entirely sure but she looks like she’s crying. Months ago the sight would have been alarming, but these days it doesn’t take much to set off the waterworks.

 

“Honey, are you okay?” she calls out softly so as to not startle the other woman.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

Beca lets out a surprised squeak as she turns to look over the back of the couch searching for Chloe in the semi-darkness.

 

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Chloe quickly apologizes. She steps fully into the living room, rounding the back of the couch to sit next to Beca and slide an arm around her shoulders.

 

Beca sinks into the embrace willingly, nuzzling into Chloe’s neck with a sniffle that confirms her earlier suspicions. “Sorry I woke you up.”

 

“Don’t be silly, Becs. You know I don’t mind,” she drops a kiss to brunette hair and lets her lips linger there, “what’s with all the tears? And why are you awake at three-thirty?” She reaches down to softly caress the ever-growing curve of Beca’s stomach, unable to suppress her smile at the flutter of movement that meets her palm.

 

Beca doesn’t find it so amusing though, halfheartedly batting away Chloe’s hand, “your asshole kid won’t go the fuck to sleep,” she grumbles; Chloe can sense the underlying fondness in her tone.

 

“Language,” she softly reprimands. She can so clearly see, in her mind’s eye, the annoyed eye roll Beca gives her in place of her usual “It doesn’t even have ears yet, dork.” She can’t really use that in her defense anymore. “Are you going to tell me why you’re crying or are we playing the guessing game, Rebecca?” Chloe settles more comfortably against the cushions, gathering Beca in her arms. The fact that there’s little resistance or protest is more than a little worrying.

 

Even though pregnancy has managed to soften Beca around the edges, a sort of careful gentility coating her movements, she’s still Beca. Stubborn, diffident and fiercely independent. She doesn’t take well to coddling and ever since the pregnancy hormones had started wreaking havoc on her mood and general emotional stability—she’d burst into violent sobs last week over a song on the radio—she’s become even more resistant to sharing her feelings.

 

The tears don’t faze Chloe anymore, but this sudden hesitance to open up makes her feel out of balance. She’s worked very hard for a long time to bring down all of Beca’s precious walls and this new layer of vulnerability that has slowly emerged in the last few weeks has been the biggest adjustment.

 

“It’s stupid,” is the mumbled reply Beca gives as she presses her face into Chloe’s chest.

 

“I hardly think whatever’s got you so upset is stupid, Bec.” She sends her fingers into Beca’s hair, combing through it softly, “talk to me, what’s going on?”

 

“You can’t laugh,” Beca says, tracing nonsensical patterns across Chloe’s bare thigh. She shifts searching out Chloe’s eyes seeking reassurance.

 

“Promise.”

 

Beca releases a long suffering sigh and makes a show out of reaching for the remote on the table in front of them.

 

That’s when Chloe notices the fact that, whatever Beca’s been watching, is paused. She can’t tell from the random landscape view what it is but it sure _looks_ like a movie.

 

Beca hits the rewind button and leans back into her again.

 

Chloe has to clamp a hand over her mouth to mute the bark of laughter that almost escapes when Beca hits play on the DVR recording again. That old, god-awful ASPCA commercial starts playing, Sarah McLachlan’s _In the Arms of An Angel_ as the perfect score to sad, caged dogs and one-eyed kittens.

 

_Oh, sweet Jesus._

 

Beca has long since gone back to hiding in the crook of Chloe’s neck sniffling softly.

 

“Baby…”

 

“Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

 

“I’m not,” she insists though it’s an effort in futility. Beca is just… too darn adorable sometimes and right now she’s pushing all of Chloe’s buttons making it incredibly hard to resist melting into a puddle. “You’re something else, Mitchell,” she places a soft kiss on Beca’s forehead before gently coaxing her out of her hiding place to wipe those pesky tears away.

 

“I’m a mess aren’t I?” Beca bashfully asks.

 

Chloe chuckles, “but you’re _my_ mess.” She leans down to brush a kiss across Beca’s lips she intends to keep on the chaste side but one of Beca’s hands shows up on the back of her neck soon enough and Chloe unwittingly deepens the kiss. That same hand slides into her hair pulling lightly and a moan tumbles past her lips and right into Beca’s mouth. “Babe,” Chloe whispers through the kiss.

 

“I need you,” comes in a ragged exhale as Beca trails her lips down Chloe’s neck, lightly pulling at the skin there.

 

Chloe sighs and lets her head fall to the side giving Beca better access. She’s sure she’ll have a hickey to deal with come morning but she can’t bring herself to care. _This_ part of the pregnancy hormones—the part that’s been messing with Beca’s libido—she’s been enjoying perhaps a little too much. She can’t help the fact that she finds Beca irresistible, now more than ever, and these middle-of-the-night wake-up calls are quickly becoming the norm. “We are _not_ having sex on the couch, Becs.”

 

It pains her to do so but Chloe eventually gathers the willpower to gently ease Beca away from her neck and stands bringing Beca to her feet too.

 

“What are you waiting for then, Beale?” Beca asks with a raised eyebrow, “take me to bed.”

 

Chloe doesn’t need to be asked twice before she’s following Beca down the hall into their bedroom.

 


End file.
